Hush
by Trinkisme
Summary: Draco's a hunted hermit; Hermione, a witch haunted by the sounds of war. What both desperately seek is solace…..silence…...peace. If everything else would just…hush. Dramione short story.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

She just wanted peace. She ached for quiet. Her soul was wearied by the memories of sound it carried. No historian ever bothered to point out the fact that war was LOUD. The clanging of spells hitting buildings, the yells of curses being cast. The roar of buildings collapsing, its rubble thundering down in a cloud of dust. And oh, the cries. She would give anything not to hear those again. The moans of the wounded…..and the heartbreaking wailing from those finding a loved one dead.

Yes, Hermione had taken all the noise she could stand. That was what had driven her to seek the solitude and quiet of the forest she now called home. The sweet singing of birds heralded each day. Buzzing bees gossiped the secrets of the wildflowers that grew in abundance near her secluded cottage. Every once in a while, Hermione could hear the heavy clomp from the hooves of a centaur seeking rare herbs.

After the war, she had bidden her friends farewell. Most had not understood her desire to leave civilization. Harry had sobbed, then he'd railed against her decision, calling it the most selfish thing she'd ever done. Later, in a complete about-face, he himself left England to battle his demons in raucous Rio de Janeiro. For Harry, noise was not the enemy but the antidote. It kept him from hearing and replaying in his mind the horrors that haunted his dreams. There within the borders of Brazil, muggles accepted magic; there, nightly diversions kept his loneliness at bay. There, under a sunny sky and with _mulheres lindas_ , Harry Potter, the Legend, the Boy Who Lived, could disappear.

Ron could not be consoled after the death of his brother, the absence of his two best friends, and the cruel murder of his former girlfriend. Begging George for help, the remaining twin finally acquiesced to his baby brother's pleas and obliviated from his mind every trace of his losses caused by the war. Fred, Harry, Hermione and Lavender ceased to exist for the former Gryffindor keeper.

When Hermione found out what George had done to Ron, she wept bitter tears. She knew better than anyone the full repercussions that would come from that action. _Obliviate,_ once released, was insidious. It would not stop or relent in its objective until _every_ memory associated with the named target was gone. She and Harry had infiltrated Ron's heart and mind to a point where he would not remember Hogwarts at all. And with Fred, many of his childhood memories would be gone. His education and training would be wiped out; his experiences, forgotten. Ron would be left as a small child in a man's body. The day she heard about Ron's decision was a very loud day for Hermione. Her mind would not shut up but kept replaying conversations, memories….. _everything_ that had shaped Ron into the warrior he'd grown to be.

Gone, gone…..

All gone.

She wondered if he would remember how to play wizard's chess.

* * *

000

Draco was focused on nothing as he made his way through the thick underbrush. The waterfalls were not far away. He could hear them now. They always guided his highly trained senses back to the place that served as his new home. Not that he couldn't have used a _point me_ spell; but why add the danger? Someone might notice; magic could be traced. While outside, Draco had learned to live without it. Only within the wards of his fortress did he feel safe enough to use his powers. The stone lodge nestled beside the river had always belonged to the Malfoys, even though it was not on Malfoy property. In times past, its use had been primarily for hunting excursions, but for the last Malfoy living, its purpose was now as a refuge. A stronghold against the hatred that sought out the only remaining death eater from the war.

The poster boy for pureblood supremacy was now little better than a hermit.

Draco pushed against a spruce branch blocking his path. He readjusted the kill he was carrying on his shoulder. Thank Merlin his father had taught him how to hunt without magic. Lucius Malfoy had been many things, not the least of these pragmatic. He always reminded Draco that a Malfoy should be on top, and to do that, one must be prepared for every contingency. He taught his son at an early age how to handle a bow and arrow; how the bark on a tree was as good as a compass if one knew how to read it, how to tell poisonous mushrooms from edible ones and how to start a fire without magic. These skills were now invaluable to Draco. He could thank his father for that one small insight while wondering why he hadn't seen the glaring error of following a half-blooded maniac to his doom. Draco suddenly shivered and not from the cold. Then he snorted. Malfoys on top? Hardly. It had been all they could do to stay alive while Voldemort had been living. The things Draco had seen; the things he'd been forced to be a part of….

 _What was your contingency plan for all that, Father?_

He'd killed the pheasant he was carrying with more kindness than what had been shown to poor muggles at death eater revels. He and his father had been sickened to their very souls with the things they had witnessed. Watching other purebloods act like vicious animals set loose on helpless humans. It had reminded Draco of the muggle stories that told of early Christians being given to lions to amuse a bored audience in the Roman Coliseum.

Draco stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes in shame as he _remembered_. Horrible waves of memories crashed over him. Of the screams, the blood, the demonic laughter, the unspeakable acts against nature, of…..of…..

It was all he could do to make it back to the keep. Pushing open the door, he tossed the dead bird on a table before racing to the toilet where he vomited the remains of his lunch.

 _Will this torment ever end?_

Once everything was out of his stomach, Draco leaned his head against the cool stone wall. Not for the first time, he contemplated whether he'd actually died and was now in hell. It often felt like it. He was alone. Without friends. Without resources.

Without hope.

 _Maybe I should give myself up_ , he thought. Then his daydreams of hell might become an actual reality. At least then he'd know where he was. He would no longer have to fear the future.

Even though he'd been acquitted of his crimes due to his age, a vengeance-mad public didn't care. They wanted him dead. _Nay, worse than that,_ he corrected himself. They wanted to make him an _example_. A victim to inflict their rage and pain upon. A condemned goat. But it wouldn't be enough. Draco already knew it. No other death eater being alive was testament to that. The wizarding world would never get enough retribution to take away their hurt. Healing didn't work like that, not that they would listen. It was no longer eye for an eye; nowadays, if one was not on the winning side, it was death first, questions later. Vigilante wizards would not hesitate to bring back the carcass of the once proud Malfoy heir. He'd heard that bounties had been placed on his head. Just like the muggle American Old West style of law. Wanted, dead or alive. Guilty or innocent. It no longer mattered.

Draco sometimes wondered if the wizarding world ever considered how pleased the Dark Lord would be at their bloodlust.

* * *

000

Hermione urged her mare onward. It was already getting dark in the forest, although it would be awhile before the sun would set. Still, she was prepared. She'd brought a lantern. She knew the flower she sought was somewhere close. She could hear the waterfalls. It was near the river where she'd seen the magical flower before; a night-blooming variety, with tremendous healing properties. Hermione wondered how that plant had made its way into the heart of the woods. A wizard or witch would have had to plant it there. Maybe they were the owners of the nearby stone cottage she'd come upon one day not long after she'd first moved into her forest home. She'd sensed wards around the structure, but didn't detect any signs of life within it.

She wondered if the family owning the residence had been involved in the war. And if so, if they'd made it out alive.

* * *

After dressing the pheasant and settling it on the spit to cook, Draco cleaned himself off, then grabbed a sack from a nearby stool. He wanted to gather some greens to go with his meat, and he also wanted to grab a few petals from the moonflowers growing on the banks near the river. His grandmother had planted them there decades ago for the hunters if they ever needed to make a healing potion in case of an accident. Right now, Draco wanted it for his stomach; it still hadn't settled down. He slowly walked to where they were blooming.

 _Pretty things_ , he thought. White and pure, with a sinfully sweet fragrance. They inexplicably made him think of Granger.

 _I wonder what happened to her._ It had been months since he'd last received any word of the magical world. He could only assume she was thriving in it. At least, he hoped so. He owed her a debt; well, actually, he owed one to the entire golden trio. They'd all spoken on his behalf at his trial. Why, he didn't know.

 _Insufferable do-gooders._

Draco could imagine them in the new world they had won. Granger would undoubtedly become the youngest minister of magic in the history of wizarding England. Potter, an Auror, to be sure. And Weasley? If that man had half a brain, he would settle down with Hermione. Then he could become a celebrity of sorts and maybe even write a book of memoirs…..with the help of a ghostwriter, of course. Even while grateful, Draco couldn't help but mentally sneer at the redhead. How he'd been lucky enough to have the other two as friends, he would never know. Ron had never matched the intelligence and class of Granger or the bravery of Potter. In a rare moment of honesty, Draco admitted the person Ron most matched was…...himself.

* * *

Hermione sniffed. Was that…..was she smelling _meat_ cooking? She breathed in deeply. It smelled divine. When was the last time she'd eaten meat? She couldn't recall. Only that at some point after the final battle she'd developed an aversion to raw flesh. Seeing it or smelling it. It had become another deafening cry in her psyche. Ron's screams after being splinched, his shoulder and arm horribly misshapen by the hunks missing from them. Her own and the boy's collective moans from their scorched skin after retrieving the cup, the rawness blistering against the rough scales of the dragon beneath them. The awful gurgle from Lavender, her ripped throat pulsing out her remaining life blood.

Molly told Hermione she was being illogical, but she couldn't help it. Raw meat meant something had died. And death carried too much sound. Too much memory. Just. Too. Much. So she'd avoided it. Until now. Without consciously realizing she was doing so, Hermione guided her horse in the direction of the savory aroma.

* * *

Draco cocked his head. He knew he hadn't been imagining things. The dull _puft_ sound that he'd heard before happened again. And again. He became as still as a statue, barely breathing, as he listened to the methodic sound come closer….closer…

 _Blast_ , he thought as he realized his wand was in the house. Of course it was. He never carried it out anymore. But he had a hunting knife. It would have to do. Draco slowly drew his blade from its holster on his belt. The person coming was undoubtedly a bounty hunter. They would have the advantage of having a wand.

He would have to be quick.

* * *

Hermione eased off of her horse and held up her lantern. She didn't remember there being so many of the flowers before. She obviously must have found the source of the plants she'd found deeper in the woods.

* * *

Draco saw a light coming his way. He held his breath, half-crouched beside the hedgerow.

 _Steady….don't rush…...let them become a fixed target…..there._ The light was now closer to the ground. Whomever it was, was now on foot. That was to Draco's advantage. He stayed still, watching intently, waiting for them to get closer. The light was grower brighter.

 _Any moment now….._

* * *

Hermione led her horse to the main bank of flowers. Leaning down, she plucked enough of them to replenish her supply. Then she straightened up. From where she stood, she could see the old stone house. For the first time, she could see a light coming from one of its windows.

 _Is someone living there now? It's smells like they're grilling outside._

Hermione felt a strange excitement. It had been so long since she'd talked to another human being. She began to quicken her steps.

With any luck, they would ask her to dinner.

* * *

Just as Draco was about to release his knife, he heard a familiar, feminine voice carry over the gloaming.

"Hello? Is anyone home?"

 _No….it couldn't be,_ he thought to himself. _Why would she be miles deep inside the middle of a magical woods?_

The figure grew closer. Draco could now see his visitor clearly. He would know that profile anywhere.

 _Sweet Salazar, it is her!_

He stepped away from the hedge that was hiding him. Standing up to his full height, he showed himself to the witch who was now standing in front of him with an expression of shock on her face, holding a lantern in one hand while a gentle-looking horse followed behind her.

"Malfoy," she breathed. "Is….is that _you_?"

"'Fraid so," he answered. Then he said the first thing that came to mind. "Have you been stealing my flowers?"

* * *

 **AN** : This chapter came from a conversation I had yesterday with **lightofevolution.** I know most of you already know about her writing prowess, but did you also know what a wonderful human being she is? I feel joy every time I talk to her! Well, getting back to our discussion, we were talking about how blessed we felt compared to the day-to-day sufferings of so many in our world. That got me to thinking. What would the lives of the teens in the Harry Potter Universe be _really_ like after the war? I've never gone through a war, but I imagine it would be something that would take me a long time to recover from. Would Harry, Ron, Hermione or Draco suffer from PTSD? Would they want to escape from their memories? How would each of them respond?

That's what this story will explore. As with _Dreams of Blue_ and _The Ring,_ this will also be a short story, with chapters staying in the single digits. Updates will be when I can manage them, depending on my husband's health and my workload.

Reviews are treasured, follows and faves are greatly appreciated; PMs are welcome! I love hearing from you.

Lastly, if you or a loved one have gone through war, I would love to hear your story IF and only IF you would feel comfortable sharing it. I want to make this as real and authentic as possible, but I know imagination can carry me only so far.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Draco idly played with the fork in his hand; every so often he would take a peek at Granger from across the large oaken table in his kitchen. He didn't believe he'd ever seen her display such enthusiasm in eating before. While at Hogwarts, she showed little interest in food, unless one counted the hot chocolate served on the weekends. He remembered her being quite a fiend about it. Draco frowned at himself, disturbed to realize he knew so much about her. But when he was young, he'd made it his business to find out everything he could. He'd been a pint-size spy and tattle-tell and absolute toe-rag to the Gryffindors. At the time, he'd felt justified in his behavior. The lion cubs were a bane to his existence. Potter with his undeserved fame; Weasley with his pathetic poverty...then there was Granger. How he'd hated her. She'd had a perpetual stick up her arse that showed even at mealtimes. Perfect posture, utensils held properly….elbows _never_ on the table, acting for all the world like some pureblood princess. He'd thought her behavior ridiculous. Throughout the wizarding world, Hogwarts school was renown; in part due to its excellent dining program. Better than Beauxbatons and far superior to Durmstrang. Didn't her kind know good food when they tasted it? Maybe she had that muggle disease he'd heard about. Anal-rexia, he thought it was called.

 _That sounds about right. Overachieving, perfectionist swot._

But that was the past. The Draco who'd been quick to judge the muggleborn back when Voldemort was just a vague dream (or nightmare, depending on which side you were on), was no more. That pompous brat of a boy had been subsumed by an older, kinder Draco. An infinitely wiser Draco.

"More?" he asked as he offered the platter containing what was left of the pheasant.

Hermione gave him a small smile and shook her head while blushing in embarrassment. "Thanks, but I'm full…..I'm afraid I've gobbled up most of your meat, and I'm sure you wanted it to last more than one meal."

Draco couldn't help but chuckle at her guilty expression. "Relax, Granger. There are more birds out there."

"I guess so," she blushed again.

Draco couldn't help but smirk at her discomfiture. It wasn't often he'd seen the witch so self-conscious. But she shouldn't feel ashamed. Surely she didn't think it was wrong to be hungry.

"I…..it's just…..it's been so long…...and it tasted so good." She gave him a shy grin. "You're a skilled cook, Malfoy."

He didn't know why that simple compliment affected him so, but Draco felt inordinately pleased by it. Still, he wondered what she meant by it being a _long time_. Since eating meat? Had she become vegetarian? However, all he said was, "Maisy always said the secret in cooking was in the seasoning. She ought to know. She was the best chef we ever had."

"Maisy….was she a house elf?"

He nodded.

Hermione wiped her greasy fingers on the rough cloth napkin Draco had given her. "Was she…did she make it through the war?"

Draco's sudden turn of countenance answered that question.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"So am I. More than you can imagine."

Hermione paused. Those words struck her deeply. Draco had changed. She could see it in the lines of his face, in the set of his mouth. In the deep timbre of his voice. His eyes, always expressive ever since she'd first met him, swirled with an emotion too raw to name. A profound sadness covered his features as he began to speak.

"When the Dark Lord found out I'd hidden our favorite elves from him, he had them brought to a revel."

"Malfoy….you don't have to…."

He acted like he didn't hear her. "It was my punishment…..to hear their screams. Their cries for help. And I couldn't do _anything_." He paused before he added, "You've got to understand.….they'd been like family to me."

Hermione felt his hurt. She wished she could take it away from him. "I'm so sorry."

He swallowed hard. "With Maisy...he saved her for last. He….he…"

Hermione reached across the table to put her hand over Draco's. "Stop. It wasn't your fault."

She now realized the emotion she'd seen. Guilt. He was eaten up with it.

"Wasn't it? She died in agony, Hermione. Because of _me_." He looked at her then, his grey eyes searching her face, seeking something. What, she didn't know. Understanding maybe? Absolution?

It didn't register to her that he had used her given name.

"That's exactly what Voldemort wanted you to feel. Don't give him that victory."

"Why not? I deserve it. You know I do. _You know._ "

Hermione sucked in her breath.

 _Oh please…...please don't bring up.._...

"It wasn't the only time I stood by and watched as an innocent was brutalized. And like before, I did _nothing_."

Hermione froze. She never allowed herself to think back on that stormy night when Bellatrix tortured her. She'd never been strong enough. She wasn't now. But looking at Draco, the memories came unbidden. The anger of Bellatrix's yells. Her insane laughter. Narcissa's murmurs. Lucius' cough. The whip of the knife as Bellatrix slashed it forward in the air. A streak of lightning followed by thunder; its ominous rumble heralding what was to come. Hermione's own shrieks and screams, ending with blubbering cries, begging for help. The sick click of the blade as it grated against bone. Ron's cries. Harry's shout. Hurried footsteps. The chandelier crashing to the floor, sharp pellets of glass hitting the marble.

Draco had been there. He'd heard it all with her. The noise….the loud, horrible….. _sounds…._

Hermione instinctively covered her ears.

Draco watched the former formidable witch crumple within herself. He reached out and gently took her shoulders. "Hey," he murmured, his voice low. He understood the misery of volume. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you….I felt I owed you…." Draco paused. Could she even hear him in her flashback-induced state? "Hermione? Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

She could hear him, alright. But despite his soft tones, his words made Hermione bristle.

 _Okay? OKAY? Does this look like OKAY?_

She immediately raised her walls, the old protections falling back in place, although a bit rusty from disuse since her time in the forest. She pulled back from him. "I…...I'm fine. Don't worry…. I never expected you to do anything." Her voice sounded wooden, pale. Dead.

Draco was taken aback by the sudden change. What had he done? Then, it dawned on him. He'd touched her. The virtuous and upstanding Hermione Granger had been tainted by the likes of him. A filthy death eater. Draco took a step back. "No….I guess you wouldn't. Why would you expect decency from me? I'd never given you any reason to."

Draco dropped back down in his chair, his elbow hitting his fork, causing it to clatter against his plate. He sighed. "Look. I know what I am, alright? Or at least what I used to be. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I swear…..I just wanted to….." He sighed again, rumpling his hair with his hand. Frustrated, he grabbed his fork and threw it against the wall, making Hermione jump with the sound. "What's the use?" he muttered to himself. "No one's ever going to give me a chance. Maybe I should just walk into the ministry and turn myself in."

"What?" His words made Hermione temporarily forget her panic and anger. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't act so surprised. You had to know there was a bounty on my head."

Hermione's jaw dropped. When had that happened? How could it have happen?

He saw her expression and snorted at the absurdity of it. Then a thought occurred to him…..he had no idea why she was in these woods. Or how long she'd been there. Was she a lure? Was righteous Hermione Granger herself a bounty hunter? He eyed her suspiciously. "Do you honestly not know why I'm here?"

He watched as she shook her head, her eyes wide and clear of deception.

All of a sudden, Draco felt silly. He chided himself for being paranoid. If he couldn't trust Granger, who could he trust? He decided to take a chance. "I'm in hiding."

"But….you were found innocent! They dismissed the charges against you."

 _Had Hermione been living under a rock?_

"Organizations have formed since my trial. They call themselves innocuous-sounding names like, "Citizens Against Crime" and twaddle like that, but their agenda is to wipe out everyone who ended up on the wrong side of the war."

"That….that can't be…"

"Legal? It's not."

"But….but Kingsley wouldn't allow…"

Draco looked at her strangely. _She really doesn't know._ "Hermione…...just how long have you been in these woods?"

She seemed confused. "I...I'm not...sure. Time slips away here. Close to a year? Maybe a year and a half. Why?"

Draco knew it had to be closer to two years if she hadn't heard what happened to the former Order member. He gave her a pitying look. This wasn't going to go well. "Kingsley's dead."

Hermione blinked stupidly. She felt like she had been confunded. " _Dead_? Are you sure?"

He nodded, his face serious. "I am. He was murdered a little over a year ago."

The tears came then, hot, weary tears of grief. At first, Draco didn't know what to do. He doubted she'd want his comfort. But then he realized he was all she had. He reluctantly drew her into his arms, rubbing her back awkwardly as she cried.

Hermione couldn't believe it. All the sacrifices they'd made to defeat evil, all the deaths, all the mourning….and for what?

What had they won?

"Wh….why?" That's what she couldn't understand. Why would anyone target the best Minister they'd had in living history?

Draco spoke softly, his mouth next to her ear. "He'd ordered a crackdown on the uprisings. Word leaked to the groups. So, they struck first. I heard he'd been poisoned." Draco was already in hiding at the time, but Theo Nott had sent him an owl warning him that the little protection he'd had was gone. There'd been a riot following Shacklebolt's murder. Outside of England, the neighboring magical governments panicked. They were afraid Voldemort sympathizers would flee England to make new bases of operations in other countries. Borders began to close. Anti-apparition wards appeared. Floo systems were shut down. Portkeys were refused. The other wizarding ministries weren't allowing anyone from the UK into their countries. No one could get out. All those who had not fought for the Light were now sitting ducks. Even those who'd remained neutral during the war were not safe. Theo urged Draco to stay low. He would come to him when he could. That had been six months ago when he'd last heard from his friend. Six months of silence for Draco to fear the worst. Finally, word made it to him that Nott had been rounded up by one of the groups for questioning. No one had heard of him since.

Hermione was in shock. She'd never imagined a dystopian future when she'd envisioned a world without Voldemort. "But surely there are others…..Kingsley couldn't have the been the only one to…."

"The Ministry's running scared, or so I've been told. There's too many of these fanatics. Right now, they're in control." Then he chuckled mirthlessly. "Where's St. Potter when you need him, eh?"

Hermione's eyes dimmed in shame. "Brazil," she whispered.

Draco's face showed his surprise. _What in the name of Merlin was Harry Potter doing in Brazil?_ He was dumbfounded. But at least now, it made sense why he'd not heard anything about him. The Boy Who Lived had gone AWOL. That left…

"Did Weasley go with him?" he asked.

Hermione's face crumpled. That was the last straw in her already overwhelmed heart. Once again, tears gushed, but this time, words accompanied them. It all came out, everything she'd been bottling up inside. The war, the pain. The emptiness and loss of purpose. The waves of depression. Harry's defection into debauchery. Ron's mental suicide. Her flight from life.

Draco held her trembling body as her lanced soul spilled out its poison. He wisely made no comment but listened as Hermione released the clamor within that had deafened her spirit. Ugly, loud words that spoke of uglier, louder truths. The death of innocence. The rape of hope.

Once she was done, she was spent. But then, as she rested in Draco's strong arms, she felt something. It was barely there…..hardly measurable….but a difference. A small, tiny, infinitesimal measure of quiet. She breathed out.

She'd forgotten how lovely a still mind sounded.

Without thinking twice about it, she stood up, pulled Draco from his chair and led him to the couch she'd seen in the next room. There, she pushed him down and sat nearly on top of him while resting her head against his shoulder. Doing nothing. Saying nothing.

Cocooned in blessed silence.

* * *

000

 **AN:** Thank you so much to those of you who have shared your war experiences with me. I hope I do your words justice with this tale.

I know this chapter was mostly conversation, but I needed to get Draco and Hermione on the same page. Both had knowledge the other needed. Now that they're both on equal footing, we can go forward.

In this story, muggle means of transportation would not work for wizards. Even if they had passports, their magical signature would set off an alarm and they would be deported.

On a personal note: I am not politically minded. But I do enjoy history. I am worried, though, that it may soon repeat itself. I fear the world has not learned from its past mistakes. There is so much intolerance, so much hate. So much fear.

It always starts with that.


	3. Chapter 3

_Please note the time jump for this chapter._

Chapter 3

 _ **Four months later: September 19th, 2001**_

Hermione gave a hard tug on the dark green onion shoot.

 _Just one more_ , she thought.

She wasn't going to run out this time and give Draco an excuse to complain. Not that he ever really fussed. Well, maybe once or twice he did, she recalled, a slow smile growing across her face. But how was she to know the aristocratic pureblood would have a such liking for onions? He was quite mad about them. Wanted them in his eggs and as an accompaniment to his meat. Said they enhanced every flavor. She didn't know how he could tell, because the pungent little things overpowered everything else in her opinion. But he was adamant about it, the stinker.

She snorted. _Stinker is right._

Needless to say, it made for very fragrant conversations. She'd started eating them in self-defense, telling Draco she'd had no choice. Otherwise, his breath would have knocked her out cold. The memory of his face after she'd said that caused her to laugh, her slight shoulders shaking in amusement.

That had been a good day.

Thankfully, she had more of those now. More days of quiet, of calm. The past weeks had seen a change in Hermione. For one thing, she was more aware of the passing of time. The minutes of each day began to carry weight. They now marked the time between the hours she spent with Draco versus the hours she spent alone. The beauty of nature beckoned once again to her traumatized soul. It spoke to her, whispering secrets that were just outside her range of understanding. But she thought they had to do with the wizard who was now such a presence in her life.

When she would wake up to a new day, she now noticed the pale sky overhead, sometimes filled with geese flying in formation. Was it just her imagination that their 'v' always seemed to point in the direction of Draco's home? Why the changing colors of the leaves brought to mind the chrysanthemums that grew around his front door? When the crisp fall breeze played havoc with her curls, she would recall the many times she'd had seen it rifle through Draco's hair.

And the many times she'd been jealous of the wind.

Hermione was no expert when it came to romantic relationships, but she knew alot about love. About trust. She knew she now had plenty of both for Draco.

She realized it the day she'd been harvesting some freshwater gillyweed from the pooled off part of the river by his home. He'd come home from scouting for berry bushes to find her in a full-fledged panic attack. She didn't remember what had brought it on; she'd not even noticed the whimpers coming out of her mouth; only the feel of his hands when he'd gathered her up in his arms. Only the rhythm of his gait as he walked into the river. Only the earthy, yet comforting scent of his sweat as he held her close to his chest. Only the chill of the water as he lowered both of them into the depths of the rushing stream, the cold of the water doing what he'd hoped, shocking her out of her nightmare. She'd clung to his neck then. And cried. He'd said not a word of disapproval or censure; but he did say he was sorry. Alot.

She surprised them both when she pulled his head down to kiss him. Kissed him with teary eyes and a snotty, swollen nose. But somehow, it hadn't mattered when he kissed her back. Draco's response was hesitant at first. But then she felt it; some sort of restraint broke within him. Giving in to it, he roughly angled her head and kissed her deeply. Desperately. Divinely, so much so that Hermione felt her toes would curl from the intensity of it.

When he ended the kiss, he asked if he needed to apologize. She'd said yes, but only because he'd stopped too soon. She'd felt his deep-throated chuckle as he pulled her closer to him. And closer to healing.

Most days were spent in each other's company. Hermione loved tending to his garden; in return, he worked on their stock of meat and firewood. Draco had rigged a complicated series of racks for the meat to dry on so that they would have a source of protein for the cold winter months. Now that he was hunting for two, he didn't want to run out. Not that Hermione ate it often. She still had moments when the sight of it would bring back a battle. The idyllic view of a butterfly-filled flower bed would give way to a grayish, acrid, smoke-filled sky, the jarring thuds of fighting giants reverberating through the ground. Or the heart-pounding recollection of Nagini coming out of Bathilda Bagshot's body, its body coiled to strike.

If that happened when Draco was near, he would drop what he was doing to sit her on his lap. There, he would try to bring her out of her memories by describing all he could see around them. He would hold her snugly and whisper in her ear. She had not known what a poet's soul he had. The way he would paint the woods and the garden with his words was beautiful. It wouldn't take long for her to relax and come back to the present. And if that didn't work, he would kiss her.

She'd faked it a few times just to get that kiss.

Now, here they were, a season later. Summer had transitioned to Autumn. Today was her birthday. Draco said he had her something. She'd honestly forgotten all about the day until he mentioned it. Then she asked him how he knew. He'd told her he remembered the strange muggle packages she received at the beginning of each school year. She supposed they would look odd to him. And what was inside them, even odder. Her Tamagotchi pet hadn't lasted long in the magical air around Hogwarts, but her Beanie Babies had, and for the rest of her time at Hogwarts, they'd made their home on top of the pillows on her bed, keeping her company. She couldn't recall what had happened to them.

That was probably for the best.

Finally getting the last stubborn onion out of the soil, Hermione put it in her sack with the others and began to make her way to Draco's home.

Her heart was waiting for her there.

* * *

000

Draco checked the persimmons in his basket, feeling them one more time to confirm their ripeness. It wouldn't do to offer Hermione one that wasn't ready. He'd too many times endured the dry, jaw-hurting awfulness of biting into one that was still green. He chuckled to himself. How he'd changed; the younger version of himself would have loved nothing better than seeing Granger pucker and grimace.

But that was when he'd been _Malfoy._ And she, _Granger_. Personalities that had died in the flames of war. Now, it was Draco and…...Hermione.

 _Beloved_ _ **,**_ corrected his heart. Draco ignored its whispers. He had no right to think it. Not yet. Even though the former Gryffindor had wiggled her way into his affections. Or maybe the feelings had already been there and had only needed a little time to ripen, much like the fruit he was carrying.

For there had been a time before. A time he'd kept to himself; one that he'd never thought possible until the day he'd found Hermione among his flowers.

A time that occurred while they'd still been at Hogwarts.

That fateful night had been in the library, of course, during their sixth year.

It had found Draco like he'd often been that year; tired….worried…..scared. His guard was down. He'd gone to the library seeking additional information to help him in his _task_. Of course Granger was there; when was she not? Ignoring her, he went to the restricted section. A minute later, he heard a sniffle. A soft sob followed. She was crying? He wondered why, but then shrugged his shoulders. It was no business of his. He had other, more horrible things to do than pick on the swot. He grabbed a book and began to make his way to the door but felt something stop him. Looking back, he gave Hermione a glance. If that had been the end of it, he would have been none the wiser. If he had just left, he might would have never known. But he paused; that was when he felt it. It was Hermione's magic, seeking solace for its witch. He felt it when it curled around him. He felt it even more when his own magic rose up to meet it. The two magicks twirled around the other, bonding instantly. Draco gasped at the same time Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. One comforted, the other terrified; for even if she didn't know what had just happened, he did. They were like magicks.

He and the mudblood.

Draco fled from the library, sickened in heart and mind. How had that happened? It shouldn't be possible. He was a pureblood, from an untainted line of purebloods; she was an…..an….abomination. A freak of nature.

Did it mean there was something wrong with his magic? With _him?_ Was that why he couldn't fix the vanishing cabinet? Why he had never been able to beat her in any subject? He momentarily panicked until common sense broke in and reminded him that Hermione had bested all the purebloods of their year, not just him.

For the rest of the year, he fretted over the memory of that evening, but never told anyone. Later, when things got bad, he thought often of that night. How things might have played out if there had never been a Voldemort or beliefs in blood purity. He and Granger could have gotten together. He would have never taunted her to begin with. Maybe they would have been study partners. Maybe Draco would have never been placed in Slytherin.

During that dreadful next year, Draco often escaped within himself to his maybe life, seeing as he didn't believe he was going to survive the actual one he had. Then it happened. One day, the golden trio was brought into the Manor. Draco's magic quickly rose up in defiance to all the other ugly, twisted magicks in the room. It wouldn't allow him to name Harry, although he knew it was him. When Hermione's torture began, so did Draco's. Within him, his magic writhed and shivered and screamed along with the witch. Draco began to sweat profusely. Narcissa noticed and looked at him worriedly. Draco thought he was going to faint. He prayed he would. When his mad aunt grabbed the Malfoy blade to use against Hermione's flesh, his powers finally stilled. That had puzzled Draco until he realized the answer; his magic knew that knife could not kill anyone belonging to the family. Hermione was his whether he ever accepted it or not.

From the moment he had seen her gathering his moonflowers, he had known it would come to this. He had known he would succumb to the inevitable. He guessed it was his opportunity to set things to rights. Draco saw what the war had done to the former feisty witch. Hermione was fragile. When they'd first reconnected, he'd felt a misplaced word could send her spiraling into a flashback or something even worse. But that had been months ago. He knew she was better now. He'd worked hard all summer to make sure of it. He'd done it because he'd felt she was due penance from him. His blackened soul cried out for a chance to redeem itself. His magic urged him onward. But it wasn't long before Draco felt another motive. When she would place her head on his shoulder, a fierce possessiveness would come over him. Draco would put his arm around her, feeling the need to protect Hermione. To comfort her. To cherish her. For better or worse. In sickness and in health. Draco lived the vows of marriage, even though a wedding was no longer an option for him. Hearts and happily ever afters were a part of normal life. Part of a world he was now denied. But if he could have chosen that life, he would have. With her. Hermione completed him; she gave him purpose.

He roused from his daydreams when he heard her coming. When not riding Deema, her mare, she liked to kick off her shoes and walk along the edge of the river, splashing and making enough racket to scare all the fish away. Draco grinned. His witch was still such a little girl. It was one of the things he adored about her. Even now he could hear her singing.

" Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy, warty Hogwarts, teach us something please…."

"What lesson would you like to learn then, Miss Granger?" he asked as he rose from the bench to meet her in the garden.

Hermione's cheeks dimpled. "Why Professor Malfoy, I really can't say. What would you have me know?"

 _That I've fallen for you? That our magicks are mated?_ was what he wanted to say. Instead, he answered, "For you to learn how to be punctual for a birthday dinner given in your honor. I'll have you know you're fifteen minutes late."

Hermione giggled. "That's your fault. I had a tug of war with some onions. They were stubborn, but I eventually won." She held out her bag for him to see. "I need to wash them off."

He led her inside his home. A bright fire was burning in the fireplace. Hermione breathed in the aroma of roasted duck and vegetables. Humming in pleasure, she took her sack to the kitchen sink.

"So….when do I get my present?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Draco snorted. "Not so fast, Witch. Dinner first."

When it came time to eat, Draco plated her food, making sure she had the choicest pieces before he served himself. Hermione couldn't help but watch Draco while she ate. The candle glow reflecting on his hair gave him an ethereal appearance.

 _He looks like an angel._ Unbidden, her heart began to ache with longing. _My angel._

Draco looked up from his food to see Hermione staring at him with an expression of deep affection. Gryffindors never could hide their emotions. He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. Her look bolstered his courage, but he felt things could still go wrong. What if his gift backfired? What if it wasn't enough? What if she said no?

Finally, after they both had eaten their fill, he pushed away from the table and cleared his throat.

"Would you like your present now?"

She smiled. "I would."

"Then give me your hand." Hermione held her right one out. He shook his head. "No...the other one."

She gave Draco a puzzled glance, but did as he asked. Taking her hand, he raised up the arm that had been cruelly carved by Bellatrix. Draco gently traced the scars with his fingers. "This was done with the Malfoy cursed blade…..not one belonging to the house of Lestrange."

"Draco…..what are you…"

"It was crafted to destroy our enemies." He looked up at her then. "Not family members."

Her heart began to race at his words, but she managed to calmly reply. "I'm not a Malfoy, Draco."

He took a deep breath. Here it was, then. "Actually, magic says you are. You have been since our sixth year."

He would have laughed at the expression on her face if he'd been less nervous. Even so, he couldn't help but smile at her look of pure incredulity.

"Have you gone mad?"

Perhaps he had. Nevertheless, he went on to explain to her what had transpired that night in the library.

Hermione listened quietly, her mind disbelieving, while the rest of her desperately wanting to it to be true. Deep inside, she sensed her magic quivering with excitement and anticipation. It had long waited for this time of symmetry.

"Our powers bonded, Hermione. If the rest of us follows suit, your scars will disappear. I...I want to give you that."

"Why?"

Draco swallowed. Although he felt it, it wasn't easy to say. Leaning over, he brushed her lips with his. Before he brought them away, he whispered, "Because I love you."

Hermione hadn't felt such widely differing emotions since the war. Joy, desire, unbelief, fear…...they were all clamoring to get her attention. She grasped at the one thing she had taken from Draco's words.

"So…...in essence….you're…. _proposing_ to me?"

He sadly shook his head. "I wish I was…..I wish I could offer you marriage. But I can't."

Hermione's heart sank with bitter disappointment. "Oh."

She tried to pull her arm out of his grasp.

Draco saw she was quickly formulating the wrong idea. "I would if I could," he said quickly. "It's what I want. But I care too much to burden you with that."

"What do you mean?"

"Think, love. All official weddings are recorded in the ministry. Even private bondings. If we performed the ritual, they would _know_. They would know you married _me_ , a death eater. You would be branded a traitor. Bounty hunters would start searching for you, too."

"Then….I don't understand. What are you offering?"

Draco cradled Hermione's face with his hands. "Myself. There is a way. More…...ancient and one that can't be traced. That won't be recorded. It all hinges on intent." He added softly, "To protect you, I can't give you my name, but you can have the rest of me. You already have my magic."

Hermione gazed at Draco's face. A face she was now so intimately acquainted with. His earnest, searching eyes roved over her features, gauging her response. She knew this was not a ploy or an attempt at seduction; he meant what he said. Draco was too much impossible choices and losses and sorrows to pretend at romance. Life had not been kind to either of them. But he was unfailingly honest; he was tender. He was real.

He was the most real thing in Hermione's life.

"Okay," she whispered.

"You will?" He couldn't quite believe it. "Are you sure?" The thought went through his head that she might not have understood what he'd been offering. The modern world no longer considered the act alone to be one of commitment.

But she had. While he'd been speaking, a bible verse from an old Sunday school lesson had come to mind. _Then Isaac brought her into the tent….and took Rebekah, and she became his wife, and he loved her."_

Her next words proved him that. "Take me, Draco. Make me your wife."

* * *

000

 **AN** : Only one chapter left. The Chosen One returns. So do the bounty hunters.

A recurring theme in so many of my stories is a soul connection of some kind or another; mainly because I believe it exists. I can truly _feel_ the kindredness I share with some. I can sense it when they have a need or when I'm about to hear from them. And vice-versa. Freaky, huh? But true. So, you know what they say; write what you know.

This incarnation of Draco is patterned after my husband when he and I were first married. In matters of love /romance, he felt very deeply, but articulating it was difficult for him. Back then, he was not a man of words, but actions. With them, he was very eloquent.

Also, he used to eat onions like a fiend.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

Hermione stood shivering as she looked out on the dawn's grey chill. Through the bedroom window, she saw the glory of autumn had sometime during the night bowed to the might of an early winter storm. Her eyes followed the soft swirls of snow as they began to pile in the corners of the window panes. It made her feel sad somehow. Fall had ended too soon. She had not been ready for the loud golds and reds to be replaced by muted greys and whites. There was a hush in winter, but it was the quiet of a grave.

Winter was so representative of death.

She didn't realize her melancholy was a good sign. It meant she was healing. Sound had once again become precious to her. Particularly some sounds. The baritone rumble of male laughter. Low, breathy whispers. Inarticulate moans. Her name spoken in an aristocratic accent.

So caught up in her thoughts, she didn't hear the soft pad of footfall behind her. But she did feel it when warm hands surrounded her waist, tugging her back into an equally warm chest.

"What are you doing up so early, love?" Draco's voice, gravelly with sleep, whispered against her hair.

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed in blissful contentment at the feel of his touch. The sound of her lover's voice dissolved the icicles that had begun to form in her heart. It had been a little over three months since she and Draco had agreed to live as husband and wife. Three months since she'd moved her things out of her cottage and into Draco's. Three months of shared duties, peaceful silences, playful bathtimes, passionate nights that were anything but quiet, lazy mornings filled with more lovemaking and evenings with the two of them cuddled up in blankets before the fire, sipping hot chocolate while reading their favorite books. It had been heavenly.

She turned in his arms and hugged him tightly. "I love you."

Draco placed a tender kiss on her forehead. "I'm glad of it, although that didn't answer my question." He lifted a wayward curl that had fallen down into her eyes. "Another bad dream?"

She nodded reluctantly. "It was worse this time. You'd been caught. They….they…."

Draco tightened his hold. "It was just a dream, Hermione. They don't have me."

"Not yet." She lifted her head to look into his eyes. "Draco…...I'm scared. If something happened to you…...I just…..I couldn't…..."

"Shhh…...you're borrowing trouble. I've managed to stay hidden thus far. We'll keep on doing like we've been doing. It will all work out."

"I hope so," she mumbled. Hermione hated sounding so pathetic, but she couldn't help it. Draco had become her weakness. Her Achilles' heel. If something happened to him, she wouldn't survive it. She wouldn't want to.

"Come on," he said, pulling her to follow him. "Let's go back to bed."

"It won't do me any good. I don't want to go back to sleep."

"Neither do I," he said huskily, his eyes darkening in desire.

* * *

000

Two weeks later, reality showed up in the couple's idyllic existence. The previous snow had melted; Hermione was in the woods, picking up pine cones to use for kindling when she heard a heavy rustle behind her. Turning around, her heart nearly stopped when she saw figures emerge from the right. Her breath caught.

 _Bounty hunters._

She quickly looked through the opening in the woods towards their home. Draco was outside in the back, splitting wood.

 _Cripes….._

He was making too much noise to hear them coming.

She had only a moment to act. With a quick wave of her hand, she placed a disillusionment charm around him. She prayed he would feel the spell and stop.

"Halt!" a deep voice ordered.

Hermione froze. She didn't dare look back at Draco. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the sudden silence from the ax. Thank God. He'd heard the voice.

Three wands pointed at her heart. "State your name, witch. And be honest. Our wands have been spelled to detect any falsehood."

Draco had been right about the danger of giving her his name. Her eyes flashed rebelliously. She had half a mind to say Penelope Clearwater again just to spite the man. If she'd been by herself, she probably would have.

"Hermione Granger."

"Granger? _The_ Hermione Granger? The friend of Harry Potter?" the older wizard looked suspicious, leery of believing her claim.

"Yes."

The wizards slowly put away their wands. "We had heard of your retreat from the wizarding community. Why did you leave?"

Her mouth gaped open at the man's audacity. These zealots thought they were entitled to know everything. Control everything.

"I just….. I needed some time to heal from the war."

The grizzled man nodded. "Understandable. But since you've left, many changes have occured. I think you would be pleased with them, Miss Granger. We've worked hard to make our world safe again. You can come back now."

Oh, the words. The seemingly innocent, benevolent words that hid his true motives. Hermione wasn't fooled. All this man really cared about was power. Those living in the forest weren't under his thumb as much as he liked, and it stuck in his craw.

"Perhaps I will soon."

The wizard tried again. "No time like the present, Miss. We'd be glad to escort you back. It would be an honor. Come now, I insist."

Pressure. The tricks of a con artist. The demands of a tyrant. However, Hermione had stood up against far greater persuasions than his before and was not moved.

"No. I'm not ready yet." Her temper, long absent, was beginning to show. It surprised her. When was the last time she'd felt it?

One of the other men raised a brow. "Is there a reason you don't want to return to family and friends?"

"My reasons are my own. I owe you nothing," Hermione spat out, sparks of magic flying from her curls. "I fought Voldemort so I could be free. So _no one_ would be above me. That's how I received _this_." She jerked out her arm so the men could see the _mudblood_ scar Bellatrix had given her. She was glad it hadn't had time to completely disappear.

The sight of it did as she intended; the wizards were taken aback.

The leader said, "As you wish, then. But before we go, it would make me feel better if I knew you were safe. I'd like to take a look around. Do you mind?"

He had phrased it as a question, but Hermione knew better.

Seeing her about to protest again, he said in an attempt at a fatherly voice, "It would be a poor show of gratitude to leave one of our heroes vulnerable to harm's way. This will only take a minute."

They started walking toward the house. A moment later, the leader pulled back as if he'd been stung.

"Very strong wards you have here."

Hermione lifted her chin in defiance. " _Heroes_ know how to protect themselves."

Giving her a new, appraising stare, he ordered, "Lower them."

Hermione bit her lip but did as he asked. They were now dangerously close to Draco.

"You've been chopping wood?" one of the younger men asked.

Hermione gave him a withering look. "It _is_ winter."

"Those logs are far too massive for a little thing like you to split."'

"Did you forget I was a witch?"

The younger man laughed. "Guess that explains the noise we heard. Spelling an ax to do the work…..nice, isn't it?"

"Let's take a look inside," said a surly-looking member of the group.

"You can't just go barging into my house!" cried Hermione.

"Begging your pardon, Miss, but we can."

He turned the handle of the door and walked in.

Walking in behind him, the leader took in the contents of the room. He immediately noticed the place setting for two on the table and a pair of men's boots by the door.

He whirled around, his expression accusatory. "Who's living here with you?" Gone was any pretense of a fatherly demeanor.

"Wh...what?"

A hardened steel blazed from his eyes. "I knew it. You're hiding something Miss Granger. More to the point, you're hiding someone. If you don't comply with my questions, I will have no choice but to administer veritaserum to find out."

"That's a ministry-controlled substance. What you're doing is illegal! It's against the law!"

He smiled menacingly. "I _am_ the law."

Hermione swallowed. Her mind raced wildly.

 _Hermione, think! They can't find out about…..._

"It….it's Harry. Harry Potter." She took a ragged breath. "He's back now."

The group of wizards looked at each other. It was obvious none of them believed her. "We never received any notification of his return."

Hermione stomped her foot, whether in terror or in anger, she didn't know. "I don't care what you have or haven't received! Don't you think I know who lives with me?"

"Why would he live here with you? Are you two romantically involved?"

"That is none of your business," she retorted.

The leader sneered. "For now. Very well, then. We'll come back later. Tell Mr. Potter to expect us. We'll bring the papers necessary for him to get re-registered."

"Re-registered? For what?"

"For citizenship of Wizarding Britain. We're requiring it of all wizards entering the country."

"But you know Harry is a citizen!"

"Doesn't matter. No one is above the law."

 _Except you, you mean._

"Tell him I'm looking forward to shaking his hand."

Hermione moved to yank the door open.

"Oh….and Miss Granger…." the older wizard drawled, turning around to give her one last look. "If I don't find Mr. Potter here when I return, I'm placing you under arrest." He tipped his hat. "Good day, Miss."

Hermione watched as the men trampled back into the woods. When she was sure they were gone, she lifted the spell from Draco and hurried him inside.

"My God, Hermione…..did you hear him?" he said. "We've got to get you out of here."

"Draco, I was terrified; I thought they would see you."

He cradled her in his arms. "I was fine. Your magic is powerful, love. Even more so when you're trying to protect the ones you love. That was the strongest disillusionment spell I've ever seen. You're the one we should be worrying about."

"Where do you think we should go?"

That was the question neither could answer. Wizards were no longer allowed to leave the country. They couldn't go to Wiltshire. They certainly couldn't go back to London. It slowly dawned on them.

They had nowhere else to go. They were stuck.

"I've got to get in touch with Harry. Those men saw your boots. I...I said Harry was living here with me."

Draco gave her a disbelieving look.

"I know. I panicked. It was the first thing that popped into my mind."

"I don't have an owl," began Draco before Hermione interrupted him.

"I won't be using an owl. That's too slow. You heard those men. They could be back tomorrow. I need to talk to Harry _now_."

"How are you going to do that?"

"I'll fire call him."

"It won't work. The other ministries have closed off the floo systems."

"I'm not trying to floo anywhere. I going to beg Harry to come home."

" _Beg_? Hermione, you don't need to…."

"Don't tell me what I need to do!" she snapped. Seeing Draco's look of hurt, she softened. "I will do anything and _everything_ necessary to keep us safe." She gave the underside of his jaw a gentle kiss. "By hook or crook. By begging, if need be."

Draco stroked her curls away from her face. "Potter may come if he knows you need him. But only if I'm out of the picture."

"If Harry Potter knows what's good for him, he'll come for both of us," she growled. Surely Harry would help them. He would _have_ to.

She looked up at Draco, her voice finally breaking. "I have to try."

* * *

000

Harry could feel the new wards as he apparated back into England's airspace. It felt like rubber bands were holding him back, keeping him out.

 _If that's how it feels coming back, I can't imagine what it would feel like trying to leave._

At first, he'd had a hard time believing Hermione when she told him she was in trouble and needed his help. In the past, it had usually been the other way around. But the sound of her tears had convinced him. The Hermione he'd known rarely cried.

He recalled the last thing she'd said. "I can't thank you enough. Draco and I appreciate it more than we'll ever be able to say."

That had been the most surreal part of their conversation. Draco and Hermione being together.

The first thing he saw when he materialized was a stone lodge nestled beside a river in the middle of nowhere. The house and its garden resided in a clearing, but everywhere else Harry looked, there were trees. Lots of them. It reminded him of the Forbidden Forest. The door to the lodge opened after his crack warned the occupants of his arrival. Hermione came out first. Draco followed after her.

Harry stood, transfixed by the sight. His former enemy had his arm around Hermione in a show of…..possession? Need?

 _Affection_ , he decided. Malfoy wasn't that good of an actor. The way he held Hermione close to his side bespoke familiarity and…..love.

Draco Malfoy loved Hermione Granger.

"Harry!"

Hermione ran to him. Throwing her arms around his neck, Harry could feel her soft curves once again. When he'd left, she been little better than a bag of bones. She now had substance again.

 _I guess I have Malfoy to thank for that._

The two of them led Harry into the house. Once there, they supplied him with a cup of tea while they told their story. When they were through, they waited.

Harry sat, stunned. Gobsmacked. Bloody horrified, to be honest.

"'Mione, that's…...I'm shocked. It…..it sounds like a bad dream. I can't believe it's come to this…."

"You'll help us, won't you, Harry?"

She was looking at him with her heart in her eyes. Harry looked at her, then glanced at the wizard by her side. He realized he didn't know who Draco was anymore.

He nodded. "Just tell me what you need me to do. I know you must already have a plan."

Hermione sighed. She _did_ have a plan.

But none of them would like it.

* * *

000

"You're….going to give up your magic?" Harry took a quick peek at Draco. The other wizard had paled considerably. It was obviously his first time to hear this, too.

"Love...if we did that, there would be no going back. We would be squibs forever."

"Not necessarily."

Draco blinked. "How do you figure that?"

Instead of answering him, she turned to Harry. "Remember when we were studying horcruxes? I ran into information that mentioned another kind. One that could be used to store one's magic instead. Hermione looked at the two wizards. Both had identical expressions of horror on their faces.

"Hermione….." Harry sounded appalled. "You would use dark magic?"

"What? No! Of course not."

"But…..you said it was a kind of horcrux…."

"Oh. Well, yes…..it's the same principle, but it's not evil. Not really. I wouldn't be splitting my soul. I would be binding my magical core to another host."

Draco frowned. "Come again?"

"Instead of hiding my soul inside an object, I would be hiding my magic." She looked at Draco then. "In theory, because we would be keeping it whole, we should be able to retrieve it."

Draco's jaw dropped. "I've never heard of that before."

"I don't doubt it. I saw it in a very old, very obscure text."

His expression lightened. "Okay. So we do this bit of magic, then….?"

"We can escape. Once free of our magic, we can leave the country as muggles. Then, if things ever get back to normal, we can come back to claim it."

Harry was quiet. He knew Hermione hadn't said everything. The making of a horcrux demanded a life. What would this type of spell require? Magic always came at a cost.

"What's the price?" he finally asked.

"What?" asked Draco.

Hermione knew what Harry was asking. She flushed guiltily. "It….it requires a bonder to bind the core to another living magical entity. But…."

"But?" Harry's green eyes were insistent.

"But the spell would also bind the one casting it. They would not be able to leave the new host." She looked at Harry sorrowfully. Pleadingly. "I know I'm asking too much from you. If...if you can't do it…..then…."

"I'll do it." Harry sighed. He had failed Ron. He was not going to make the same mistake with his sister.

* * *

000

For the next thirty-six hours, no one slept. Draco and Hermione worked feverishly to get things together. Harry called in some favors and made an emergency trip to his contact within the muggle American consulate in London.

"Okay," he said as he came back with a briefcase full of documents. Your galleons have been converted to American dollars and have been wired over to this bank. This will be your account number and they gave me some temporary checks for you to use. When you get settled, you can order more and get a plastic card of some kind."

"Debit card, most probably. Or credit."

"Yeah, that sounds right. Here are your passports and green cards….."

"Great. Thank you Harry." Hermione took them and put them with their other papers.

"It was a good thing you had withdrawn your money from Gringotts before everything went south."

Draco nodded. "I have Theo Nott to thank for that. Bless his soul, he took better care of his friends than himself."

Harry sighed. "This should be all, then." He looked at Hermione. "'Mione…...are you certain you want to…"

She grabbed Draco's hand. "I'm sure, Harry. It's the only way."

His gaze then went to the wizard by her side. "Malfoy…"

"Draco. Call me Draco."

Harry looked down at the hand that Draco held out for him to take. This time, he showed no hesitancy in taking it. He gave it a heartfelt squeeze. "Draco. I promise I'll protect your magicks until you can come back for them."

"Thank you, Harry. I will forever be in your debt."

He shook his head. "Just take care of Hermione and we'll call it even."

Draco nodded. "I'll do that."

Hermione took Harry's hand. "How can I ever repay you? I've basically asked you to give up your life for us. I….I didn't even ask if you'd found someone in Brazil. I've been so selfish…."

"Mione…." he interrupted her. "Stop. You're the most unselfish person I know. I was the one who was selfish. I'm the one who left everyone. So quit worrying. There was no one in Brazil. Well, no one I'll miss. To be honest, I was ready to come home. I'll be fine. Some peace and quiet will do me good."

"But will you be safe? Merlin, I didn't even think of that…."

"Will you stop with the worrying? They wouldn't dare hurt the _Chosen One._ I'll be safe."

There was a pause then between the threesome. They looked at each other as fellow wizards for the last time; all three trying to manage the conflicting emotions within them.

Draco was the one to break it. "Love…...are you ready?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes…..I'm just a bit nervous, to be honest. You?"

"Yeah. Me, too."

Harry cleared his throat. His hands felt clammy. In spite of the cold, he was beginning to sweat.

"Harry…...you feel comfortable with the spell? Remember the emphasis is on the second syllable...and your wrist must..…"

Harry chuckled in spite of his heavy heart. "Yes, Professor. I think I've got it."

"Well then…...I guess it's time."

The trio walked outdoors to where the moonflowers would grow in the spring. Right now, they were sleeping under a pile of leaves.

"I always did think these flowers had a strange, magical appeal," Draco murmured softly. "Now, I know they will."

Hermione turned to give Harry one last hug and a kiss. "I love you," she whispered.

"Love you too, 'Mione."

She gave him a final nod. "Harry…..please. Just….do it."

With a heavy heart, Harry lifted his hand and whispered the incantation. He watched, the lump in his throat growing as the magical cores of Hermione and Draco spiraled out of their bodies to dissolve into the ground. A moment later, as if _by magic_ , the entire bed of moonflowers burst from the soil, the stems pulsing and swaying under the weight of the flowers that were glowing brightly beneath the crystal stars of the wintery night.

He looked at the couple. They looked the same. Almost. Hermione had lost some of the golden undertones of her skin. She now looked as pale as her husband. Except for her lips, which had darkened into an apple red. The silvery shimmer of Draco's eyes had changed to an aqua blue. The white blonde of his hair was now also interspersed with golden strands. In a way, they were even more handsome a couple than before. Perhaps it was magic's parting compensation for leaving them.

"How do you feel?" he asked them.

"Uh….I feel...wow. It's strange….." said Hermione. "Just….."

"Quieter," finished Draco.

Hermione nodded. "Uh-huh. Less, somehow." Seeing Harry's frown, she clarified, "I don't mean less as in _inferior_ ; but…...less frenetic. Like Draco said, quieter." Hermione had never considered that magic itself had contributed to the noise in her life. That there was peace in a simple muggle existence.

"Well, hopefully, it will only be temporary." Slicing open his palm, Harry cast an extra ward over the moonflowers, letting his blood seep into the ground. They would now recognize his magic and would respond only to his call. "Let's go." Taking their hands, Harry apparated the now squibs to Newcastle Airport. "You've got your tickets?"

"Yes, Harry. Right here."

"Okay," he said. "Here's Arabella Figg's address. Send your correspondence there. She'll owl me your letters."

"Okay." Hermione took the slip of paper.

"Bye, Moonflower," he whispered as he kissed Hermione's cheek.

She gave him a crooked smile. "Daisy. Moonflower would sound too hippie, I think." She gave him one last hug. "Bye Harry."

He watched as Hermione and Draco, now under the pseudonyms of Hunter and Daisy Woods, walked toward the terminal they were to leave from to go to a new home in America. Harry had done all he could to smooth the way for them and had, for the first time, deliberately used his name to pull strings.

He couldn't imagine the courage it took for them to leave their magic behind and start a new life in a strange country as muggles. Especially for Draco.

Giving them one last look, he apparated back to the stone cottage he was now bound to until the magic hidden away there could be restored to its rightful owners.

* * *

000

A loud knocking on the door awoke Harry to the midday light. Scrambling from the couch where he had collapsed after taking Hermione and Draco to the airport, he managed to open the door to find a group of wizards standing in front of him.

"Yes?" he asked, then yawned.

"Mr. P….Potter….." the older man stuttered. "We didn't expect…..I mean, we didn't believe…"

Harry realized these must be the bounty hunters Hermione had told him about. "What do you want?"

That seemed to bring the man out of his dazed condition. "Uh...we need to have you fill this out. It's just some paperwork. We didn't know you were back in the country. So, this is just a formality, really. Once you're done, sign it and owl it back to the ministry."

"Fine," Harry said. He took the parchment and started to close the door when the wizard stopped him. "Mr. Potter….."

Harry wanted to smirk at the man. He actually looked _afraid_ of him. "Yes?"

"Tell Miss Granger I'm sorry I doubted her words."

"Will do," Harry said.

He let out a big sigh after the wizards were gone. With any luck, they wouldn't be bothering him again.

* * *

000

 ** _Three months later_**

Harry watched Luna as she scanned the river for freshwater plimpies. He grinned when she excitedly called back, "I see one, Harry!"

Since Draco and Hermione's departure, he had tested the bonds of the magic that held him to their home. He found he could go as far south as Leeds, but couldn't go past that point. Certainly not as far as London. Which was fine, because Harry had no desire to go there, anyway. Not at present. From what he'd heard from Luna, things had gotten really bad; but in a way, that might be what would save them. Other muggle governments were taking notice and were putting pressure on Britain to handle their internal affairs. If not, the other world leaders implied they would do it for them. That had lit a fire in the pants of the Prime Minister.

Harry laughed when Luna slipped down the muddy slope and fell waist deep into the cold spring waters.

"Harry Potter, quit laughing at me!" she yelled good-naturedly.

Luna. Harry had always liked her. Respected her, even. But he'd not had her in mind when he'd come home. The first week after Draco and Hermione's departure, he'd written a letter to Ginny. An owl had returned with a response from Molly. She'd begged him not to contact Ginny. That if he'd ever cared for her daughter, to please let her be. It seemed that while he'd been enjoying himself in Rio, Ginny had gone and married her ex-boyfriend, Dean Thomas.

To Harry's amazement, he found he wasn't hurt by it. So he decided to try out the solitude that Hermione had craved. He didn't see the appeal, actually. Thankfully, it hadn't lasted too long.

Harry had met Luna quite by accident in the woods. She'd been searching for one of her crazy, magical creatures. Harry had invited her to the lodge for tea. When she crossed the wards, she suddenly stopped. She looked around the yard, as if expecting to see someone. Then she nodded to herself as if something made sense. "Hermione always was clever. And I knew that eventually Draco would show himself brave."

Harry didn't comment on her words. There was no need. Luna had always known things. And she was never one to gossip. So they enjoyed their tea. She asked him about Brazil. Harry hadn't wanted to tell her of his wild doings while he'd been there, but Luna was such a comfortable person to talk to, he found himself opening up. When he was through, they enjoyed the silence together.

Before she left that evening, she kissed Harry on the cheek and said, "Don't worry. There is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought."

He didn't know if she had been talking about Hermione and Draco or himself.

A few days later, he met her again in the woods. And again, a few days after that. One thing led to another, and before too much time had passed, she had burrowed her way into his heart. Now whenever Harry thought of his future, he saw her in it.

He wondered if it had happened that way with Draco.

Maybe solitude made men ready for the right one.

* * *

000

 ** _Six months later_**

Harry smiled as he watched Arabella's owl circle the clearing before flying down to land on the window sill. Giving the bird a treat, he looked at the envelope and grinned when he saw the familiar slant of Hermione's handwriting. Quickly tearing open the letter, he read its contents.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _Draco and I are finally (finally!) settled in our new home. It took a bit of doing, but thanks to you paving the way for us, we had less headache than we expected. The muggles here in Alabama are very friendly. Actually, they seem a bit naive in their hospitality, but that plays to our advantage. Only a few have looked at us with something akin to suspicion; we later learned they were members of the local Choctaw Indian tribe. It would seem that Native Americans are far more intuitive than the average muggle. I think they can sense the footprint magic left on us. If only they knew!_

 _Anyhow, I don't think we'll want for friends here. We've been invited to church potluck suppers, fish fries, and many other social activities. And I'm told there will be even more of these events during football season. That's another thing we had to learn….people here take their games just as seriously as we do our Quidditch. Especially this football, which I've been told is not like our British version. We were asked almost immediately if we pulled for Auburn or Alabama. Winking at Draco, I said I was a Lion. He, in turn, said he pulled for Big Green. Of course, we were just teasing each other; we had no idea there were actual teams who went by those nicknames. So because of that, some now think we're snobbish Ivy leaguers. And before you ask, I don't know what an Ivy leaguer is. But apparently, it's something frowned upon in these parts. Other than that, we've made no further mistakes. We now know to stick to this simple formula: we say, "War Eagle" to anyone wearing orange and "Roll Tide" to those wearing red. I swear, the people here act like those phrases are some kind of incantation! It's rather ridiculous, but Draco and I have had a few good laughs about it._

 _Harry, I'm much better now. I've only had one really bad episode since coming to the States. It was on their national holiday to celebrate their independence. It's traditional here to have a fireworks display. Somehow the flashes and noise brought back the final battle to me. Draco had to get me away from our new friends so they wouldn't witness my panic attack. Thankfully, they were too busy watching the sky to notice us leaving. But other than that, I've done fairly well. I'm proud of myself!_

 _Another news item: we're married now. Well, I mean properly married. We met a really lovely black minister who Draco took to like a duck to water. I think the man reminded him of Blaise Zabini, although Blaise as a preacher was never something that even remotely crossed my imagination! At any rate, we asked him if he would marry us and he did. So we are now legally Mr. and Mrs. Woods. I just wish we could have used our real names; Hunter and Daisy Woods sounds so…...so….silly, even though those names do describe who we were when we fell in love. But maybe one day, if we get to reclaim our magic, we can also reclaim our real identities, too._

 _Harry, my dearest friend, thank you so much for being a savior one more time. For being our savior. Because of you, Draco and I can live and love….and dream._

 _I love you, Harry -_

 _Hermione_

Harry smiled wistfully as he folded the letter back into its envelope before tossing it into the fire. Opening the door to the garden, he leaned against its frame as he watched two silvery wisps play above the moonflowers that temporarily sheltered them. Draco and Hermione's magic, forever bonded, swirled together under the light of the stars in a joyful dance of love, of belonging and of the hopes of a future reunification with their beloved humans.

Heaving a resigned sigh, Harry could only hope the same thing.

* * *

000

 **AN:** Luna's quote is from The Faerie Queene by Edmund Spenser.

I pictured the magical wood as being close to the border of Scotland, but still in England. Maybe somewhere around the Lake District? I dropped down to that area in Google Earth and it looked pretty. Not sure how realistic it would be for wizards to hide out in a national park. But hey...that's why it's so much fun to write fantasy!

I purposely painted the bad guys in shades of gray. Pure black would have been too honest for them. I think the blend of white and black makes them worse, actually. To me, the scariest kind of wickedness is when evildoers think they're doing good.

As to the moving to Alabama...it would be a perfect hiding place for them, yes? Who would expect them to live there? In my mind, I picture them living somewhere on Lake Martin. Nearby are the two tiny communities of Our Town and Equality. I liked the sound of those names. I think Draco and Hermione would like them, too.

I thought I would have to divide this chapter at first. But I took a hard look at it, and started whittling away the unnecessary parts. I'm fairly pleased with the result. I hope you are, too.


	5. Bonus Epilogue

**Epilogue**

 _Three years later_

Draco straightened up, then rubbed his aching, sweaty back. It was November. November in the Deep South and the temperatures were still warmer than an average summer day in England. He'd been picking pecans off the ground in his backyard for the better part of an hour while his wife watched. Part of the time she'd been busy nursing their son, but the rest of the time, she'd sat on the blanket, dozing off as she leaned against the trunk of a silverleaf maple tree.

He knew Hermione was tired. Leo could be a handful. Even at five months, their baby's magic had caused quite a stir in their quiet lives.

Draco Malfoy, pureblood scion of an ancient house, now magicless fugitive, had in essence sired a muggleborn son. He had to laugh at the sheer irony of it. His father was probably rolling in his grave, not that the thought bothered Draco. Leo's magic had first started manifesting at two months. Back then he'd caused his mobile to twirl about wildly before levitating it down close enough to touch it. Hermione hadn't believed Draco when he told her until she saw him do it again just two weeks later. And at Halloween, he'd fussed when one of his play toys had stopped playing music. Mad that the pretty sounds had disappeared, he accidentally caused _everything_ in their house to start playing. Their normally peaceful home erupted into a cacophony of noise; cd's, phones, the tv and radio….anything that could toot, ding or ring began to blare. Leo gurgled and laughed, clapping his hands. He'd been delighted with the racket he'd caused, but it had taken Draco and Hermione quite a bit of time to shut everything off before the trick-or-treaters came to their door.

Their son's magic was powerful. They knew it already. It called to the unnoticed, untapped magicks of the cottonwoods and cypress; of the rivers and deeps. The highs of Cheaha, the lows of the Gulf; throughout the state, the sleeping powers awoke, recognizing a kindred spirit had been born.

Newer than the ancient elementals or runic magicks of the old world, America's homegrown blend of supernaturals came to pay their respects. Fairy fireflies, the will o' wisps of that region, fluttered around Leo's crib, lighting it with their flame-like phosphorescence. Ghosts gathered, too. One that stayed for a time was Huggin' Molly, a spirit feared in lower Alabama. Reportedly, she would catch children out at night and hug them before screaming in their ear. A giant of over seven feet tall, she was considered the female version of the boogeyman.

Yet, when she'd materialized before Leo, Hermione and Draco saw she'd been a beautiful woman before grief at losing her baby had taken her before her time. After she'd become a ghost, she'd made it her mission to protect as many children as she could of the things that truly needed to be feared in the night. Murky swamps, deadly snakes, wild animals. Men, bent on evil.

"The little ones don't see me unless I make myself large. They don't hear me unless I scream." She smiled brokenly at Hermione and Draco. "I do hate to scare the dears, but I'd rather they be terrified of me than join me in the hereafter."

"Bwok!" Leo squealed adorably.

Petting his sweet baby head, Molly sighed. "Children see nothing but beauty and wonder. But the world can be very dark and dangerous."

Hermione and Draco nodded.

That, they remembered all too well.

* * *

At Christmas of the same year, they received a letter from Harry. It was the one they'd dreamt of getting but had never actually expected to receive.

He said it was finally safe to come home. The coup had been overturned. Security and order had been restored to wizarding Britain. Sane heads were now in charge of the government. Amazingly enough, it was Theo Nott who had been selected as interim Minister of Magic until the elections could be held. Theo, once thought dead, had miraculously escaped from the clutches of the zealots and had worked tirelessly to help free others. Draco cried when he read his friend was alive; he couldn't think of a better man to be at the helm of the ministry.

It took a bit of time, a fair bit more of money and more patience than Draco and Hermione combined had, but once they got their affairs in order, Hermione booked the first available flight back to England. When they'd made it to Heathrow, Arabella Figg and Luna were waiting for them.

"Harry would have come, but…..well…..you know," shrugged Luna.

"Oh, yes. Of course." Hermione and Draco understood all too well why their best friend hadn't been at the airport to greet them. The chains had been of their own making.

Luna took a peek at the precious bundle in Draco's arms. Her smile became brilliant. "So that's what had the moonflowers so happy last summer. I knew it had to be something good. It kept the nargles in a constant dither."

Hermione grinned. They had not told anyone at home about Leo. Call it leftover paranoia, but they hadn't wanted any chance for that information to slip into the wrong hands.

Once the three women successfully sneaked Draco into a ladies bathroom, Luna gave her thanks to Arabella for helping her navigate the airport. Then she clutched the arms of the couple in front of her and apparated back to the forest where her husband was waiting.

Harry's grin grew when he saw Draco with a squirming baby. "You brought a stowaway with you, I see."

Hermione rushed over to her best friend. "Harry," she murmured brokenly. He held her tightly as she wept in joy at seeing him once again.

"My 'Mione's a mummy," he whispered in her ear.

Laughing and crying at the same time, she pulled back to look at him. Harry looked good. He was sporting a beard now, but it suited him. His beautiful green eyes held peace and contentment. It was all she'd ever wanted for him.

"When did you and Luna marry?" she asked.

Harry looked over to see Draco putting his son in Luna's arms. A strange longing filled him as he looked at his wife holding a baby. "A little over two years ago." Quietly, so only Hermione could hear him, he murmured, "She was what I was missing. I feel whole now."

Hermione nodded, proud of Harry's admission. He had healed, as had she. "I know what you mean. Draco did the same for me."

"What's your son's name?" he asked.

Draco heard Harry's question and answered before his wife could. "Leo. Leo Harry Woods. Now Malfoy, of course. "

His aqua-colored eyes held Harry's green ones. Harry was the one who finally broke away when tears threatened to escape his eyes.

"Thank you, Mate," Harry whispered.

"Will you be his godfather?" Draco asked.

Harry pulled off his glasses to wipe the moisture off them. "Of course."

Luna sidled up to her husband after that and whispered, "Babies are such a blessing."

Harry bumped against her shoulder. "Maybe we should start on our own."

"Tonight," she said as she grabbed his hand. "There's a full moon. Magicks will be restored. It will be the time of new life."

"There's a full moon tonight you said?" That came from Draco.

Luna nodded. "Powers will be heightened."

Draco looked at Hermione. "Can you wait until then?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "We've waited this long. A few more hours won't kill us."

While they waited, the two couples did their best to catch up on each other's lives. Draco and Hermione entertained Harry and Luna with tales of their life in America. Some of it was indescribably funny.

"One time I went to a grocer's to get minced meat," began Draco, "and they led me to a jar of spiced fruit. Said it was what they used. And all I wanted was a bit of Hermione's cottage pie!"

Harry frowned. "They use fruit in their cottage pie?"

"No, it was the usual mix-up in terminology. What we call minced meat is what they call ground beef or hamburger. It's not the only wording we bungled while we were there."

Hermione jumped in and told them of the time she was in a check-out line at a Wal-Mart store and forgotten she needed erasers. She'd yelled at Draco, who was coming from the bread section, to hurry back and pick up some rubbers because they'd used up all they had. She'd gotten scandalized looks from two elderly ladies in the line, but several of the men winked at her. Harry and Luna laughed when she told them what that word meant to Americans.

"I imagine you'll miss your life there," Luna said after she took a sip of her tea.

Draco sighed. "We'll miss the friends we made….especially Marcel."

Hermione gave her husband's hand a squeeze. "I wouldn't put it past Draco to try to move him here."

"I'd do it in a heartbeat if I thought he would let me," he said. "But he has his church….and his family. He can't leave them. Especially his mom." Draco understood. He would have been the same way with Narcissa had she lived.

"Is Marcel the minister who married you two?" asked Luna.

"Yeah."

"Did…..did he know about…..you know. About you having a magical background?" This came from Harry.

"Well…..he never came out and said it…...but I think he suspected."

"Marcel had his own magic," Hermione said. "His own power."

Draco nodded. "That he did. I think he could feel something in us, too. But he never asked. He respected our privacy."

"He was one of the few who did," added Hermione with a snort. Then she went on the describe some of the widows in their community who took it upon themselves to learn all they could about their new neighbors.

"Draco and I were up late one night….oh, stop it," she chided Harry when he began to chuckle. "I'll have you know we were merely watching a movie."

"Sure, sure."

She decided to ignore him. "It was just after midnight when our phone rang. It was our neighbor across the street saying she noticed our lights were still on and wanted to know what we were doing to be up so late!"

The four began to laugh together.

"I know what I wanted to tell her," Draco grinned devilishly.

"Hush," giggled Hermione. "If you had said anything like _that_ , you would have given her a heart attack."

"Nosy old biddy," Draco muttered. Then he smirked. "I would have enjoyed giving her one of those _conniptions_ she was always talking about."

"Don't you mean a hissy fit?" Hermione smirked back at him.

Harry and Luna looked lost. "Er…..sorry?"

That led Draco and Hermione to explain Southern expressions which ultimately led to a discussion about Southern food.

"I gained at least a stone the first three months we were there," complained Hermione. "But I couldn't help it. The food was so good."

"One stone? I gained two."

Hermione nudged Draco with her elbow. "But at least yours was all muscle. Not fat like mine."

Draco kissed her temple. "I happen to like where my wife puts on weight," he said wolfishly.

Harry grinned. "Gotta say, Draco has a point. You look good, 'Mione."

Hermione looked down at her lush curves. Although her stomach had returned to its former flat state, giving birth had forever changed her hips and bust. It had caused more than one sigh to escape her, but she knew Draco wasn't joking when he said he liked her curves. He proved it all the time. She smirked, the expression very reminiscent of a younger Draco.

"What are you thinking, Wife?" Draco whispered, but Hermione could see in his eyes that he already knew.

"What if gaining back my magic changes my figure?" she asked innocently.

Draco's grin failed. "It better not," he growled.

The other three laughed at his expression.

"Don't worry, Mate. 'Mione's just teasing you," Harry assured.

"Harry James Potter, you talk too much."

And so it went with the two couples. Laughter and memories, all the happy ones, filled the hours until the time came for Draco and Hermione to claim back what once was theirs.

As Luna and Harry went before them to the bed where the moonflowers grew, Draco took Hermione's hand and whispered, "I don't know why, but I feel nervous. How about you?"

"Silly, I know….but yes."

"Love are you sure…"

"That I want my magic back?" Hermione stared into the eyes of her husband. She knew what he was feeling. She was feeling it, too. Great gifts came at a price; magic was no exception. They loved the life they'd had as muggles; a simple uncomplicated life of pleasure and duty, friendships and love. And laughter. So much of that. Once they entered back into the world of wizards, the childlike bliss of living they'd enjoyed would be no more. In this realm of unparalleled power, there was always unrest. Movement. Noise. Strong energies bumping against the other naturally produced storms. It was the way it was; the cost of magic.

"If it was just you and me…..I would say let's not. But there's Leo to consider."

Draco pulled her into his arms and whispered against her hair, "I know."

"Draco….I'm torn. What should we do?"

In the end, they decided to return to magic. Leo's life would be easier with magical parents; besides, they'd bound Harry long enough, not that he'd ever complained. Hand in hand, they stood before Harry and Luna and received back what was both a blessing and a burden.

Once their cores were restored, Hermione and Draco went back into the house to check on their sleeping son and to prepare for the next day when they planned to meet with the new Minister in London.

Harry and Luna lingered outside a bit longer.

"The poor dears…...the moonflowers will be so sad now," Luna murmured.

Harry smiled at his wife. "They'll miss the Malfoy magic."

"Yes…..but perhaps we can help."

Harry quirked a brow. "What are you thinking, witch?"

Luna laughed, a sparkling bright laugh that matched the moonglow shining over the lawn. "The magic of creation makes all things new, you know. It will take away their feelings of loss."

"Luna Potter..."

"You said you wanted to start. No time like the present."

Harry began to laugh.

Taking that as a yes, Luna led Harry to the thickest patch of moonflowers near the bank of the river. There, she pushed him down and followed after. The magical flowers had a front row seat to the creative magic Luna had spoken of; they felt the surge when the rite was successful. The nargles nesting nearby were put off by the demonstration and left in high dudgeon, but the wrackspurts came out in force to celebrate the beginning of a life, getting in everyone's ears. Draco and Hermione attributed their sudden fuzzy thoughts to their bodies having magic again, but Luna knew what was happening and murmured to her husband, "I'll let the wrackspurts have their fun tonight. But tomorrow, back into the forest they go. Pregnancy will be enough of a challenge without having to deal with them."

* * *

AN: The conversation about mincemeat and rubbers really happened. So did the phone call at midnight from a nosy old widow. Such is life in the South. LOL


End file.
